One Hundred in Twenty
by The Starving Writer
Summary: One hundred drabbles in twenty weeks. MovieCannon. A variety of onehundred word quickshots, mostly centered around HanLeia, but also including Luke, ObiWan, Padme, Anakin, C3P0, R2D2, and a few OC's, as well. There's bound to be something you'll like!
1. Week One: Sequence

**I. Beginning**

She looks beautiful in white.

Bright.

Fresh.

Clean.

Gone is the soldier with blood on her face. No trace remains of the sweat and the dirt and the stains of rebellion.

She is just a woman now. Not a Princess, or a Senator, or a battle-hardened leader. Just the woman he loves.

She blushes, and her face is as innocent as her gown.

"You're beautiful."

"You don't look so bad yourself, for a scoundrel."

For once he has not retort. So he kisses her.

Kisses her for every moment of their past, and for every waiting sunrise in their future.

* * *

**II. Middle**

He's always hated the middle.

Maybe it's just his enthusiasm, but the interlude between the heroic rescue and the triumphant return is proving exceedingly boring. He sighs and slumps in his seat.

Suddenly, the _Falcon_ shudders. Something hard rolls down the hallway into his foot. He turns his attention from the ceiling and picks it up. It's a significant-looking metal ball. He studies it for a moment, then shrugs, and begins to toss it casually.

Han storms in, catches the ball in mid-air, and jogs back down the corridor.

"Found it, Chewie!"

Luke groans. Maybe he'll just take a nap…

* * *

**III. End**

Gone.

A flash of light and a life is ended.

She kneels in the dirt and can't help but imagine every smile he'll never give, every tear he'll never shed. And she weep for what can't ever happen.

He watches her from a distance, still sweating with the adrenaline of the shootout. For a moment, he wonders if she's in the wrong line of work. Holstering his blaster, he realizes she's better for the job than any of them.

"Let's go," he says gently. She wipes her eyes and gets to her feet.

It isn't death she fears. It's finality.

* * *

**IV. First**

He's never felt a stronger sense of destiny.

The weapon vibrates in his palms, alien but somehow right. It was his father's once. _His_ father's. The distant legend of a man who ruled his childhood imaginings. Holding a piece of him here and now feels like shaking hands with a god.

He tries a few swings, surprised by the weight of it. Nevertheless, his muscles seem to know where to go, and he cuts a smooth arc through the air. The Force is ingrained in him, as it was in his father.

He is a Skywalker. This is his path.

* * *

**V. Last**

"Goodbye."

The words are charged. Their understanding is unspoken: Goodbye, maybe for the last time. It's _always_ maybe for the last time.

She hates war. Hates the uncertainty. The chance that any step could spell the end, any chapter be the conclusion.

Her father once told her if you spend all your life looking up to the sky, worried a meteor's going to land on your head, you're likely to walk off a bridge. She tries to believe him as she prepares to return the goodbye.

But he sees through her logic and hugs her like it's the last time.


	2. Week Two: Time

**VI. Hours**

Spare time is precious when you're a Senator for a fledgling Republic. So a freak power outage and a four-hour delay doesn't feel like such a bad thing.

She strolls through the gardens, enjoying the quiet. But she's not alone. She sense her twin before she sees him, and smiles.

"Displaced, also?"

He nods. "I've been thinking."

"That's new."

He laughs, but softly. "About our father."

It's her turn to go silent. "Do you ever wonder?" He continues. "What he was like?"

"I wonder… if he'd be proud of me."

He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Yes. He would."

* * *

**VII. Days**

The prospect sent her stomach twisting.

Four days in a ship with the biggest ego on the base. She wondered if she might suffocate.

Han didn't seem thrilled, either. "Four days with the Ice Princess? The _Falcon's _heating system couldn't handle it."

Leia made a very un-diplomatic suggestion, and Han chuckled. "Didn't know they taught that in finishing school, Your Worship."

"Don't call me that."

"Fine, baby."

"_Baby? _I- I've met toddlers with more maturity!" She stormed off.

"Betcha they're a helluva lot less fun," Han called after her. He turned to Luke. "Just be glad she likes you, kid."

* * *

**VIII. Weeks**

He wasn't sure he'd ever feel his toes again. Why the Rebellion had chosen this ice cube was beyond him. Probably so Her Worshipfulness would feel more at home. She'd explained it to him once, but he'd found her lips much more interesting.

The cold made him restless. Each week he stayed, sharing their triumphs, their sorrows, their food, made it that much harder to leave. And attachments were something he couldn't afford.

He wished again that the secret base could be on a distant planet where the average temperature was above zero. His feet were freezing to the ground.

* * *

**IX. Months**

Leia laid a hand absently on her stomach. She could feel the blooming life beneath her fingertips, changing, growing. Han settled next to her, and she adjusted to fit into his arms.

"Do you think they'll like me?" he asked.

Leia laughed. "You never know. They may be smarter than their mother."

"Hey!"

She kissed his cheek apologetically. "It is a lot to think about, though. What will they look like? How will they act? What will they do for this world?"

"Exactly."

"Well, we'll find out soon enough. Only six more months."

"That's an awful long time to wait."

* * *

**X. Years**

Twenty-one. It wasn't a particularly significant number. In fact, the only true meaning it bore in the greater galaxy was that it marked the legal age, on most civilized planets, to purchase alcohol.

Han Solo and the boys of the Rogue Squadron had no intention of letting this monumental occasion pass by uncelebrated, so Lke found himself tackled, tied, and dragged off to the local bar.

Unfortunately, the actual milestone didn't permeate Luke's memory. The alcohol hit everything else.

"Welcome to manhood, kid." Han said.

Luke stood up and wiped his mouth. "I think I'll just stick to fruit juice."


	3. Week Three: Color

**XI. Red**

"You don't think this is too…risky?" Leia turned around in front of the mirror, assessing the gown once again.

"Yep. Definitely."

"You're not supposed to agree!"

"But it's true. You just might make me forget me speech."

"You're not helping. I can't."

"Who says?"

"Tradition. Red is too passionate."

She started to remove the dress, but Han caught her hands. "Red is more than that, you know. It's strong. Bright. Independent."

"You're making this up." But her defenses were obviously crumbling. "Red isn't independent."

"It is when you wear it." He kissed her neck, whispered, "And passionate isn't so bad."

* * *

**XII. Grey**

She stands by the fire and watches her perception of evil dissolve in the flames. This isn't how it works in fairy tales. Students don't kill their teachers. Fathers don't torture their daughters. And the villain _never_ saves the day.

The more she learns about this man who was her father, the harder it is to hate him. And yet, she cannot love a nightmare. Maybe it will come with time, like her brother tells her. Not affection, but forgiveness. Respect.

Respect for the human behind the legend. Respect for the fact that only fairy tales are black and white.

* * *

**XIII. White**

White is the hardest color to maintain.

It's what her handmaidens have been telling her for years, but she insists on wearing it. She likes its simplicity. It's a color with nothing to prove. It has other connotations, of course. Purity. Justice. All things honorable.

There are jokes among the men that she's defending her virtue with her snow-white ensemble. However, the last one to question it got a farm boy's fist in the face.

The truth is, her closet needs updating. Everything's dirtied from the mess that is rebellion. She should really find another color.

White stains too easily.

* * *

**XIV. Black**

It feels like the hangover from hell. Except he's totally blind and he's sure last night wasn't fun.

He fights back the panic and waits for the light to return. He's a man who survives keeping both eye open, and this blindness makes him painfully vulnerable.

He's had his share of dark nights. But even in the deepest corners of space, the lowest, un-lit alley, there's always a distant star for direction, a passing light to guide him. He doesn't have the trust to be a blind man.

Then he hears her voice, and he's not alone in the darkness.

* * *

**XV. Blue**

He'd never seen so much of it in one place. A single, rippling expanse of blue that played with the sunlight.

"Is that all…_water_?"

Han nodded, amused. "Yeah. You can touch it, too."

"Wow." He stepped forward, gingerly placing a foot in the shallows. "It's cold."

"I know," Leia said, with a hint of distaste. She was in past her knees, but showed no interest in going farther.

"Hey, Princess!"

She turned to catch a face full of seawater. With an angry "_Han Solo_", she returned the favor.

"Guys! How can you waste-"

Twin sprays of water cut him off.


	4. Week Four: Relationships

**XVI. Friends**

"Well, that was embarrassing."

"_Breep-boo-vroop."_

"Yes, I know you thought it was funny. In fact, it seems you were too incapacitated with laughter to help me."

"_Zeep-ba-rup."_

"What do you mean, it was a good thing? I completely ruined Senator Organa's speech!"

"_Drur-or-brrom-ba-veep."_

"It was _supposed _to be boring! It's a state dinner! Under no circumstances should the speaker's protocol droid end up in the punch bowl!"

"_Buzz-plut-rip." _

"I had it coming to me? Why you insolent, stunted little grease bucket…"

"_Zroop?"_

"Yes, I did mean it. Now go away."

"_Vleep…." _

"Oh, all right. But don't think I've forgiven you."

* * *

**XVII. Enemies**

There are some things he prayed he'd never have to do.

This is one of them.

He straightens up, panting. Looks into the face of his adversary. There's nothing left of the man he knew in those desperate eyes. Now, staring back at him is an iron-faced monster. A monster he created.

He holds his hands out in a silent request for surrender. _It's not too late. It can't be too late. _But his foe just sneers.

He takes a deep breath and raises his weapon while his heart cries out at the wrongness of it all.

So be it.

* * *

**XVIII. Lovers**

They didn't get much time together, being, as they were, leaders of a rebellion. Despite what the pilots said, passing moments in the hallway did not a romance make.

When she voiced these concerns, Han raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying we're not really…together."

"No, we are. But I feel like just an acquaintance. I want to be…"

"What?"

She blushed. "Lovers."

Han gave her a crooked smile so roguish it made her nervous. "So you want us to be lovers, huh? Right now?"

"Of course not right now! Are you-"

His kisses had a way of being _so _persuasive.

* * *

**XIX. Family**

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or dumbfounded. The kid and Leia- twins? It seemed impossible, even in this crazy galaxy.

He was blond. Her hair was brown.

He was a farm boy. She was a Princess.

He was impetuous. She analyzed until the last possible moment.

He was painfully naïve. She was painfully anything but.

But there were resemblances, he had to admit. They were less obvious, but he saw them now.

Like their selflessness, their bravery. Their undying commitment no matter how thankless the task.

Yes, he though, watching them through the fire. Twins to the soul.

* * *

**XX. Strangers**

It's a sketchy little cantina, the kind where the barkeep wears a gun and nobody looks anyone in the eye. But it's where he feels the safest.

Here, among strangers, he doesn't have to keep up appearances. They expect nothing, and that's what he gives them. He just sits in the dark and ponders life from the bottom of a glass. There's no need to explain himself. And if no one asks questions, he won't need to lie.

There isn't much conversation tonight, since everyone's alone. They're all like him, tired souls looking to grieve in the company of strangers.


	5. Week Five: Senses

**XX. Smell **

The cold, she can live with. The lack of entertainment is easily (and, frequently, disastrously,) remedied by the ingenuity of the Rogue Squadron.

But those _things_. She doesn't care how useful and easily trained they are. The smell alone is enough to keep her from the South Hangar Bay.

Not that she'd have any reason to visit the South Hangar Bay.

"They don't smell _that _bad," Luke says. "I don't know what your problem is."

That morning. She happens to pass by a droid in the hallway carrying a bin of dirty pilot's laundry.

Fighting back a gag, she understands.

* * *

**XXII. Sound**

At first, he thinks there's something wrong with the ship. It's a new sound, and he's worried. Any noise he hasn't heard before is a cause for alarm.

But when he steps outside to call Chewie, he realizes it's not coming from the _Falcon_. He draws his blaster, motions to the others. Wedge and Hobbie hear it, too, and follow him. It's coming from a cracked door down the hall.

"It's _music_."

"Could have fooled me."

Han peeks in and smiles. "It's Leia. She's dancing."

Someone whistles. She whips around, shouting something about rations, but the music drowns her out.

* * *

**XXIII. Touch**

The farm boy may not have much in the way of social graces, but by the Force can he give a massage.

She sighs and lets his mechanic's hands work out the stress in her shoulders. Her in-box is depressingly full. She groans. "I don't suppose you can make these reports disappear."

He laughs. "I'm not magic."

"I don't know about that."

"Hey, Princess- Oh." Han freezes in the doorway, takes in what he sees. Something unreadable passes over his face. "Never mind."

"What was that about?"

She moves her hair so he can attack her neck. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

* * *

**XXIV. Taste**

"I've got something that'll warm us up a while." The pride in Wes's smile made Luke instinctively nervous.

"Is it legal?"

"On most planets." He produced a small bottle of orange liquid. "This, friends, is the hottest hot sauce this end of the galaxy." The other pilots gather around, impressed.

"What's that, gentlemen?" Leia broke into the circle, smiling warningly.

"Careful, Princess. This stuff is only for the manliest men."

"Oh, really." Leia's voice lowered dangerously. She grabbed the bottle, dumped the contents into her mout, and walked away.

Silence. Then, awe-struck applause.

Luke pretended not to hear her gagging.

* * *

**XXV. Sight**

There's something glittering deep in his eyes, a passion that lights him from within. There are other signs, too. The constant half-smile on his normally somber face. The bounce in his stride. The restless movements of his hands.

He's seen the signs too many times to doubt it. The glow surrounding his companion speaks louder than any words he could utter to the contrary. The truth crushes him.

"What's wrong, Master?" he asks. "What've I done?"

He looks into his padawan's face. It kills him to drive away that happiness. But an oath is an oath. "You've fallen in love."


	6. Week Six: Elements

**XXVI. Water**

He can tell it's something urgent because she's jogging and her hair is still wet. It slaps against her back, soaking her shirt. She passes by him without a sound, but he senses trouble and follows the trail of water she's left behind.

"-sooner than we thought," says the voice of some general. "We need to evacuate."

"Give the orders." She's standing still, and there's a puddle forming on the floor beneath her.

"Why can't we stand and fight?"

She shakes her head, spraying water across his face. "Captain Solo, some of us actually want to _win_ this war."

* * *

**XXVII. Fire **

It's been forever since he's seen her, and the need is burning him alive. The absence and the loneliness suck at him, dry him out till the smallest spark, be it a picture on the news, the sound of her name, the sight of a woman with long brown hair, sets him aflame.

When he finally sees her again, it's been three months and he doesn't trust himself to speak.

"Are you all right, Ani?" she asks, and lays a hand on his forehead. It stings like hot metal. "You're burning up."

He swallows, smiles weakly. "You have no idea."

* * *

**XXVIII. Earth**

It feels good to be back on solid ground. After months of floating around on more tin cans than she cares to think about, she's thankful for a place to sleep where she doesn't have to worry about flying equipment and navigation malfunctions.

But tonight she doesn't feel like sleeping. She walks barefoot through the woods like she did as a child. The dirt is warm and soft in the little clearing, so she succumbs to her whimsies and sits on the ground, digging her fingers into the soil.

Technology can provide her every desire, but earth has a heartbeat.

* * *

**XXIX. Air**

"What's the matter, Leia? Never flown in an X-Wing before?"

"Not when the pilot's suicidal."

"I'm glad you trust my flying skills." Luke guided the craft through a low-flying loop, causing Leia to curse. He thought he heard a hint of enjoyment in her voice. "Relax. we're almost there."

"Thank the Force."

Their destination in sight, he couldn't help throwing in one last barrel roll. Leia was out of the ship almost before they landed. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

Luke looked her over. She was flushed, her hair in tangles from the helmet. But she was smiling.

"Yes, it was."

* * *

**XXX. Spirit**

Alive, he had watched him when he could. Dead, he's with him always.

He hovers over the young man's shoulder through his every task , whispering wisdom into his ear. When he listens, he's as strong as his father. When he doesn't, he shows the same weakness. The way he guides him is different. Their mode of communication doesn't allow for the impatient banter that marked his conversations with his last student/ It's a spiritual connection, more than anything, one of wordless suggestion and reassurance.

He's done his share for the jedi and the Rebellion. This, he does for Anakin.


	7. Week Seven: Food

_**A/N: **Hey there! I decided to try something a little different with this set. All five stories follow the same storyline, a first for me. I think it had some success, but that's for you to decide. Feel free to review, let me know what's working and what's not. _

_Enjoy, _

_**TSW**

* * *

_

**XXXI. Breakfast**

The cafeteria is quiet this morning, largely due to the corner table, whose normally rowdy occupants sit silently, passing around a knowing smirk. Frequently, their eyes flicker towards the entrance in anticipation.

"They have to come out eventually."

"Do you think the might walk in separately? It might save them some embarrassment."

"No it won't."

"Aren't you guys assuming a little too much?"

"Your innocence never fails to amaze me, Lukie-boy. Mot everyone has your incredible Jedi willpower. These two have been waiting for a long time."

Sure enough ,the doors open, and the lovers walk in to raucous cheers.

* * *

**XXXII. Lunch**

It's strange, suddenly being a "couple". Not that it hadn't been suspected for a long time, but now it's public knowledge. She'd gotten so used to denying it, "no" was reflexive.

They sit together at lunch, and she's suddenly aware of the jealous female glances sent her way. She knows there's no need to protect her territory, but she moves closer just in case. He doesn't mind.

Out of habit, they start to argue, and it feels like old times again. Except now, she's bickering with _her _laser-brain.

Then again, she thinks with a smile, he was hers all along.

* * *

**XXXIII. Dinner**

Their relationship hasn't been orthodox, and he feels like making it up to her. Dinner seems like an average, normal place to start. Unfortunately, that entails smuggling a princess off-base, finding a restaurant on a mostly unpopulated planet, and digging enough change from his pockets for at least one decent meal.

Through a combination of hard-earned pirating skills and a few bribes, they escape the base. The diner is seedy, the food burnt, and the waiter clearly flirting with his date. He leaves him a black eye instead of a tip.

She brushes off his apologies. "Normal would be boring."

* * *

**XXXIV. Food**

He seems determined to make her happy, even if it means chaining her to a table set with stolen silverware and forcing a meal down her throat. She decides to humor him, sitting on the counter while he mumbles about their waiter. Her explanation of local hospitality was lost on him, so she abandons the idea.

She's surprised by the array of food on the ship. The cabinets are full of delicacies she hasn't eaten in year. "Where was all this when we were eating ice chips?"

He smiles guiltily at her accusation. "Sorry, Princess. I don't share too well."

* * *

**XXXV. Drink**

"Han, have you seen-" he stops in the doorway. Han is asleep on a bench with Leia across his lap, her arm around his waist. An empty glass lies beside them.

Han opens his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I was just-" Han puts a finger to his lips. He gently touches Leia's face, and she stirs.

"You've been missed, sweetheart."

"I wha- Oh, hell." She scrambles to her feet. "Thank you Luke. Goodbye, nerfherder." With a wave to Han, she's out the door, swaying just a bit.

As he leaves, Luke wonders whether it was the alcohol or being in love.

* * *


	8. Week Eight: Angst

_**A/N: **Hey, everyone. Thanks for the feedback on the last installment. I'm definitely going to try some more connected drabbles in the future. In the mean time, here are a few angsty little drabbles. Hope you enjoy them! _

_Thanks again,_

**_TSW

* * *

_****XXXVI. Broken**

He's always been happiest when he's fixing things. It clears his mind, finding the problem and then patching, tuning, tinkering until it works again. He digs through the pile of junk, looking for something, anything, to take his mind of the screams.

Metal to metal. Wire to wire.

_They were defenseless. _

A screw loose here. His fingers tighten it deftly.

_They had no chance to fight back. _

Maybe if he puts this here, replaces these parts.

_But he killed them anyways. Every single one. _

He places his finished work on the table, presses the button.

The light doesn't turn on.

* * *

**XXXVII. Fixed**

The droid rolls back. "There you go, sir." He flexes his palm experimentally. The fingers move just as they always have. As if the fight had never happened.

But it did, and he's beginning to come to terms with the truth. Fate dealt him a blow from behind, and though it will scar, the wound will heal. For some reason, things seem clearer now. He understands himself finally, and he no longer feels like a little kid playing with a toy sword.

He has things to do, now. A rebellion to lead. A friend to save. A destiny to face.

* * *

**XXXVIII. Light**

The sun hasn't risen yet, and everything is colorless. In a few minutes, the twin suns will rise, and the desert will burn in their red light. The sand will turn to gold, the canyon walls to flaming copper. The day will arrive.

But right now, the landscape is a palate of unshaded silver. Not dark, not light. Just waiting.

She waits with it, standing at the window. She wear the mask pulled up on top of her head, baring her face. It's as flat as the scenery.

A glow appears on the horizon. In a blaze, the day begins.

* * *

**XXXIX. Dark**

This is _not _the man she loves. The shadows on his face are not cast by the lava spraying around him. They come from within and shroud his features like a pall.

He speaks, and for a moment the familiar voice soothes her. But the ideas pouring off his tongue are alien. His pride, his impatience, all the faults he struggled to hide are amplified.

Suddenly, his hands are on her. Their gentleness is forgotten with the rest of him. His anger frightens her. Desperately she searches his eyes for a sign of her Anakin.

All she sees is darkness.

* * *

**XL. Shattered**

All he had to do was press a button, and her whole world was shattered. The reality of it is so huge, so unbelievably cataclysmic, it takes a few hours to sink in.

She's sitting in her temporary quarters on her rescuer's ship, staring out the window at the dust drifting by. It shimmers in the starlight like shards of glass. With a whimper, she realizes that's exactly what they are.

The truth comes crashing down, and she wants desperately to just go home. But home floats by in a million sharp-edged pieces.

She asks the pilot to fly faster.


	9. Week Nine: Pain

_**A/N: **Hey, all! Sorry about the wait on these ones. I'm running out of that initial momentum. Now the work begins… Anyways, I thought I'd keep these ones light, for the most part, because this week's topics could get really dark in a hurry. So with the exception of _Scars _and _Agony, _who absolutely refused to fit in with the rest of them, look for a little more comedy in this section. _

_May the Force be with you,_

_**TSW

* * *

**_

**XLI. Rebirth.**

All across the galaxy, the cry echoes: "The Empire has fallen!" The celebration brings together everyone, of every race and religion, and they shout as one with the joy of newfound freedom.

But there is one who seems untouched by the festivities. He's a young-looking individual, a man who was once a boy, not so long ago . He stares calmly into the dark beyond the fire. There is something there that the others can't see. Whatever it is, it makes him smile peacefully.

Nodding silently, he returns to the party, thankful that even after death we can be reborn.

* * *

**XLII. Scars.**

They're not the kind of war wounds to brag about. They aren't impressive or grotesque, and the story behind them isn't one she's eager to tell. But he finds them one night, and, as always, he has to ask.

"They're nothing," she says firmly, rearranging her hair to hide them. But he doesn't believe her, and continues prodding until she can't take it anymore. "Just leave it, okay?"

She's in the nightmare again, with needles and machines and questions, questions she can't answer, but it hurts so much…

When she wakes up crying, his hands know just where to go.

* * *

**XLIII. Disease. **

He hates this stupid holiday. Whoever decided to celebrate the sunny, naïve ideas of romantics was an idiot. All he'd created was a day when making out was acceptable in any situation. If he has to push through one more tangle of appendages, someone's going to end up on the wrong end of a blaster.

He hopes the kid hasn't been hit, a hope that's demolished on first sight. Luke is stumbling around like a drunken nerf, with what looks suspiciously like lipstick on his collar.

Leia doesn't wear lipstick… His own relief disgusts him. Damn thing must be contagious.

* * *

**XLIV. Agony. **

He's suffered his share of injuries, some of them so painful it hurts to remember. None compare to this.

The fire racing through him burns his veins with a pain so intense all he can do is curl up in a ball and scream. But worse than the physical agony is the voice in his head, digging persistently at his greatest weakness. He struggles not to listen.

There's truth in them that he can't deny, and that's the cruelest torture of them all. Because while he writhes on the ground, sobbing and helpless, his father stands by and does nothing.

* * *

**XLV. Healing. **

"You all right, hon?"

"I am now."

The medic laughs. "Those are the drugs talking, sweetie. You'll be thinking clearly again in a few hours." Luke looks up at her face, so strikingly beautiful.

"I'm not sure I want that to happen."

"You're lucky, you know," she says cheerfully. It took a long Bacta bath to patch you up."

"Have dinner with me."

She chuckles again. "Aren't you the charmer? I'm afraid that's impossible. We're on a military base."

"So?"

"I'm leaving, before you embarrass yourself any more."

"I'll call you!" He calls, and watches her go, enjoying the view.


	10. Week Ten: Objects

_**A/N: **Here it is: TSW's second sequential Drabble Collection! This week was _ridiculously _hard, as I'm not sure books and candles appear too often in the modern Star Wars universe. The plot is a little iffy, but they'll suffice. More importantly, they are out of the way, meaning that next week I can introduce the new, Original Character I've been planning since the beginning. Yahoo! _

_Thanks for reading!_

_**TSW

* * *

**_

**XLVI. Bell. **

_Jingle. Tinkle. Jingle. _

At first, the bell-covered harnesses on their six-legged carriage beasts were cute. But after twenty miles, they were getting on her nerves. '_Be diplomatic, Leia. Deal with it.'_

_Jingle. Tinkle. Jingle. _

Han was oblivious. "How much longer?"

"About ten minutes," their driver chirped. Leia twitched involuntarily.

She didn't unclench her jaw until their destination was in sight: a lopsided wooden construction with vine-laced windows. The carriage stopped, and a merciful silence filled the air.

"Shall I wait here for you?" the driver asked.

"No, thank you," Leia said, before Han could answer. "We have other transportation arranged."

* * *

**XLVII. Book. **

She hadn't seen a book in years. In an age of data pads and computers, paper was obsolete. Books were nearly extinct, confined to dark vaults and sunless archives. They were antiques, relics of distant ages. Even as a Princess, she'd never touched one. There was something in the weight that made its contents more real, more permanent.

Their host seemed pleased with her awe. "You are impressed, milady?"

She nodded. "Yes. Very."

He smiled. "Then you will appreciate the rest of my collection."

"There are more?"

"Oh, yes, milady," he said, with a hint of pride. "There are more."

* * *

**XLVIII. Candle. **

The tunnel was in solid darkness except for the flickering circle of gold around the man's candle. Leia hurried to keep up with his pace, tripping over unseen roots and frequently hitting her head on the ceiling. Judging from the constant mumbled curses behind her, Han was faring no better.

The dark confines gave her the sense of entering another time. There was an ancient quality to the earth, something… deep-rooted and ancestral.

"Here we are." The candle blew out. In the momentary blackness, a door creaked open. Then a hundred torches burst to life, and she gasped in disbelief.

* * *

**XLIX. Bowl.**

The cavern was enormous, so vast she couldn't take it all in at once. Shelf after shelf stretched back into the shadows, each loaded with artifacts of home. A rock grew in her throat, then dissolved painfully.

"Here it is. My collection."

Han picked up a bowl and turned it over in his hands. Leia snatched it away protectively. In the flickering light, she recognized the design around its rim. She used toe eat from a bowl just like this, when she was a child. Tear began to blur its surface, and she reluctantly put it back on the shelf.

* * *

**L. Blade. **

"There is something in particular I wish to show you," the guide said. Leia wiped her eyes, not daring to speak. The man disappeared for a moment, then came back with a large wooden box.

"This should be familiar."

Inside the box was a long-handled knife with a blade so bright it acted as a mirror, reflecting her wide eyes. Her father's knife. "Where did you find this?"

"The Empire's plans were not secret to everyone. Things began to disappear not long before the Destruction. "

Leia gave silent thanks to the galaxy's thieves. "Thank you, sir. We'll take everything."


	11. Week 11: A Day

_**A/N: **Here it is! I proudly introduce to you: the nameless spice-mining slave girl! I'm really loving this story, so I'm pretty sure she'll show up again. A little OC romance, perhaps… _

_My humble thanks, _

_**TSW

* * *

**_

**LI. Dawn. **

I look out at the fiery orb rising like a crown above the mountains. It will be the last time I see the sun today. I drink in its radiance, but it no longer fills me with hope. I know better, now.

The slave drivers watch us closely, waiting for one false step. Their eyes follow one girl in particular. I recognize the hunger in their faces and shudder. She will not be coming back to the barracks tonight.

The gate to the mines awaits us, mouth gaping, ready to consume. Without a backward glance, I step into the dark.

* * *

**LII. Morning**

It's cold this morning, and even more so underground. Our breath mists the air before us, but we dare not shiver lest we seem weak. The overseer often says that the savage guard beasts like their meat tender. His meaning is clear.

I pick up my chisel with calloused hands and face the vein of precious spice running through the tunnel wall. The woman behind me lifts her basket, ready to carry my harvest. We do not speak. Even if we could, there's nothing to say.

A whistle blows. With a dull crack of metal on stone, the day begins.

* * *

**LIII. Noon**

I see him coming before the overseer. Long hours in the dark have tuned my night-vision, and the faint green light is so unexpected I turn my head. The overseer barks a command and raises his hand.

A flash of green cuts him down. Then the screaming starts.

I fall back against the wall as the air fills with blaster-fire. The figure before me whirls and spins, fighting off the supervisors with a beam of light itself.

A stray shot strikes the rock above me, showering me with fragments of stone and spice. One hits my head, and I fall.

* * *

**LIV. Dusk**

I wake up in someone's arms. They're running, to where, I don't know. The light suggests the sun hasn't set, but I'm not sure. I'm so used to the dark, it's bright as day to me.

I squint against the bright sky and look up into the face of my rescuer. It's the man from the mines, the one with the glowing blade. He smiles reassuringly but doesn't pause.

There's a ship waiting for us. A loud cry sounds out. I clench the man's arm as he leaps up the ramp. It closes behind us, and the ship soars away.

* * *

**LV. Evening.**

I take my time washing tonight, let the water rinse my past away. I've just changed into a new, clean uniform when someone knocks.

It's the man again. He wants to know if I'm comfortable. I haven't spoken in a long time. The words form slowly, but I manage to tell him that my head aches. He places his palm gently on my forehead. The pain eases.

I want to thank him, but don't know his name.

"Call me Luke."

"Thank you, Luke. I'm…" I struggle to remember. Who was I, before this? It doesn't matter anymore. "I am free."


	12. Week 12: From a certain point of view

**LVI. Good.**

Good is a matter of opinion.

Did he do a good thing, coming back? He traces the ridges on his medal. The Rebellion thinks so. There was a look of approval on the Princess's face when she gave it to him, one he didn't expect was seen often. And Luke… the pure gratitude in the kid's smile made his stomach twist into a knot.

He is not a good man, and he knows it, even takes pride in it now and then. Heroes don't have ulterior motives.

If only they knew why he'd turned around. If only he knew himself.

* * *

**LVII. Evil.**

What kind of monster does this to a man? She kneels down beside the bench, stroking his sweat-slicked forehead. If there is a reason for this violence, she can't find it. And that's what she can't understand.

It will be her turn, soon, and she knows he will show her no more mercy than he showed Han. She is not afraid. She's faced him before. He got nothing from her then, and he'll get nothing from her now.

She will hold her head high and stare unflinchingly into that soulless black mask.

Because evil cannot win. She won't let it.

* * *

**LVIII. Dream.**

There's a little house in the woods in her mind, far away from war and politics. The sunshine falls cheerfully on the children playing in the yard. One is a dark-haired, confident little girl, the other a boy with curious blue eyes. They laugh at the antics of some tiny creature in the grass. The sound is more beautiful than any music. A warm hand touches her shoulder, a real, living hand, and she doesn't need to look to know who it is.

When she wakes in the morning, he's there by her side, but the world still isn't perfect.

* * *

**LIX. Nightmare. **

It feels like a nightmare, but he can't wake up. Instead he paces helplessly within his own skull, watching with his own eyes as he turns away from the light. The air around him ripples with heat from the blaster fire, but the shell of his body is so, so cold.

He steps through the doorway, not sure what he's doing but knowing it's not right. There are children in the room. Sweet, innocent children who turn their frightened eyes up to his. No. He can't

His light saber ignites. With a silent, anguished scream, the good in him dies.

* * *

**LX. Truth.**

He is the son of an enemy. A murderer. A traitor. It is a heavy truth, the kind that must be known, but no-one wants to hear. At least the doubt is gone.

He doesn't speak about it. Not because he's avoiding it, but because there's nothing to be done. A truth is an absolute truth, no matter what Ben says. His father was Anakin Skywalker, and Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark.

But it's also true that he _was_, that he laughed and hurt like everyone else. And he loved.

Wherever there was love, there will always be light.


	13. Week 13: Physical Expression

**LXI. Kiss. **

It was just a kiss. A single, meaningless gesture. So why can't she think straight anymore?

_It's what he wanted, _she thinks bitterly. To hook her in, then leave her hanging. Force knows, he has the talent. But she's spent too long building immunity to his charms to be broken by a pair of gentle lips.

Finally, she takes matters into her own hands. After all, the best defense is a strong offense. The next time she sees him, she kisses him so hard that he stumbles back into the wall, then leaves him breathless and alone in the hallway.

* * *

**LXII. Hug.**

"I think that means he likes you."

Han looked down uneasily at the happy, gibbering ball of fur wrapped firmly around his leg. "Since you seem to be an expert," he said, with a touch of exasperation, "How do I tell him 'no'?"

Leia raised an eyebrow. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because between you and Chewie, there's already enough hair on my ship."

She decided to ignore his comment. "You should be thankful. They could be eating you, instead."

"I'm not so sure it isn't."

Leia sighed. "Only you would need to be saved from a hug."

* * *

**LXIII. Smile. **

"What's so amusing?" Wedge just shook his head and ducked out of the corridor. Leia looked after him, suspicious. There was a troubling amount of secretive smiles going around the base today.

They were all different, these knowing grins. Luke's was bright, Janson's mischievous, and Han's- well, like al his smiles, so cocky she wanted to knock it off his face with the back of her hand.

She entered her office to a shower of confetti and cries of "Happy Birthday!"

She looked at the beaming faces, and didn't have the heart to tell them they were a week late.

* * *

**LXIV. Frown.**

"Would it kill you to smile now and then?"

Leia ducked behind a wall as a blaster bolt whizzed over her head. "Actually, yes. Now shut up and shoot."

Han fired casually, eliminating another enemy. "Touché."

Leia noticed an opportunity to quickly end the battle. All she had to do was fire first.

"Really, Princess. Your's is so cute."

Leia faltered. Her shot was a second too late, and the enemy bolt hit her side.

Luke hooted. "We win!"

Leia cursed vehemently.

"Relax, Sweetheart. It's only a game."

Removing her simulator helmet, Leia shook her head sadly. "No, it's not."

* * *

**LXV. Laugh. **

For such a funny man, he doesn't laugh much. So she almost forgives him when he breaks into laughter, out of pure surprise.

Almost.

"It's not funny," she says defensively, struggling to maintain some dignity as she attempts to disentangle her hair from the distraught little bird who mistook it for a nest.

At this, he just laughs harder. His loud, booming baritone makes the corners of her mouth twitch. The bird continues to squawk frantically, and she is painfully aware of how ridiculous she must look.

But there's something in the brightness of Han's eyes that makes it alright.


	14. Week 14: Heavenly Bodies

**LXVI. Sun. **

"What is it?" I gaze sidelong at eh blazing blue orb before us, unable to look directly into its radiance.

"A new sun," Luke answers. "A millennia of dust, condensing together particle by particle until it finally ignites."

"There's dust out there?"

Luke laughs. "As long as there's creation, there'll be waste. It just drifts until it forms something new."

"It's beautiful."

"It's Akaru."

_Akaru, _A brilliant diamond of the night sky, born of the castaways of another time. I shiver with the sense of rightness in the word.

In the light of a heavenly miracle, I've found a name.

* * *

**LXVII. Moon.**

I pity this moon, our temporary sanctuary. It broke away from its planet years ago, only to be trapped by gravity. Now it circles and circles, free to move, but not where it chooses.

We've been here for two weeks, and I'm getting impatient. Luke says they're trying to place us somewhere safe. I tell him I don't want to be placed. I want to find a new life for myself.

"Be patient, Akaru," he says. "The galaxy's bigger than you think."

I'm too angry to reply. I guess for now I'm stuck here, swinging around on a gravitational chain.

* * *

**LXVIII. Stars. **

I've taken to talking to the stars. They're the only bit of brightness in this place. Everything is dull, even the people. My companions from the mines haven't recovered as I have. They drift aimlessly, still the lifeless, biddable livestock they were before. No-one on this rock is worth talking to.

Except Luke. His brilliant, thought-provoking conversation brings life to my days. I wish I could spend all my time with him, even just sitting and enjoying the peaceful energy that rolls off him. But he has things to do.

So I settle for the inconstant company of the sky.

* * *

**LXIX. Clouds. **

Finally, I'm going somewhere. But the clouds around us are solid, and I can't see what lies ahead.

We're headed to a peaceful, prosperous planet where it should be easy to find a new job, a new life. The problem is, I'm not sure that's what I want.

Luke has been telling me about his life, a traveling, exciting existence. There is no everyday for him. That's what I want. Variety. To see everything this galaxy has to offer. As I've discovered these past few weeks, I can't tolerate stability.

I look out the window again. The clouds are clearing.

* * *

**LXX. Planet. **

We're here, and it's time for me to decide. The ground beneath my feet fees safe. It doesn't move or falter, doesn't drop out from beneath me. But I can't shake the feeling that if I stay here, I'll never leave. I love my freedom too much to lose it again.

"I can't stay."

Luke doesn't look surprised. Instead, he shakes his head with a sigh I can't decipher.

"You're guaranteed security here."

"I don't want a guarantee."

"I know." He meets my eyes reluctantly. "And I don't want to leave you here."

"Then let's go."

"Right now?"

"Right now."


	15. Week 15: Emotion

**LXXI. Indifferent.**

He wishes she would just yell at him and get it over with. Nothing she could say could be crueler than this silence. She's as talkative as the metal walls around them, and a little colder.

"Hey, sweetheart."

She goes on with her work as if she never heard him. He steps in front of her. She won't get away this time.

"Move, please," she says flatly.

"What do you want me to do, Leia?"

"I want you to move."

"You know I'm sorry."

She steps away. "Do I?"

He growls with frustration. "How do I apologize to a wall?"

* * *

**LXXII. Exhausted. **

"Take a break, before you work yourself to death."

"I'm busy," she says, head bent over her desk.

"Come on. Even senators have to sleep."

"That doesn't mean we can. I'm fine." It's painfully obvious she's lying. Her face is pale in contrast to the blue circles under her eyes, and she's lost weight.

Finally, he pulls her out of the chair himself.

"What are you doing?"

"Exercising my authority as a general and your protector."

"But you can't…" She loses the struggle to keep her eyes open. He smiles, and caries her sleeping body to bed, where it belongs.

* * *

**LXXIII. Hopeful.**

"It's not going to be easy, you know."

"_Bzoop-blip-dreep?"_

"Why not? Running a government is no easy task. There are laws to establish, officials, holidays.."

"_Proopt!" _

"I am _not _a kill-joy. I'm simply being realistic."

"_Por-whir-glub-dirp-rip." _

"Of course, Master Luke is up to the challenge. I've no doubt he'll do splendidly. Though he has made some rather rash decisions in the past…"

"_Beep-beep-zurp." _

"I must admit, I agree with you, R2. Things are looking up for us. We've certainly earned a break from the action."

"_Bhirr." _

"The future does look bright. I'm just glad we're both here to see it."

* * *

**LXXIV. Relaxed. **

She's wondered for a long time how he stays so calm. It doesn't come from his lifestyle, because there's no relaxation to be found in war. And she highly doubts it's drug induced, because, well, it's Luke.

The first time she walks in on him, she thinks he's unconscious. He's sitting motionless in the middle of the floor, eyes closed. Instinctively, she steps forward. His chest rises slowly, and he exhales through half-open lips.

She steps back. He's practically radiating inner tranquility. She suddenly feels like her foolish worries are polluting the room.

She wonders if he could teach her...

* * *

**LXXV. Restless. **

She knew what she was getting when she married a pirate. But she still held on to the childish hope that he would change. She might as well have asked the sun to freeze.

"I need to get away for a while," he says to the floor.

For a while, the only sound is the whine of his ship. "Stay," she says finally.

"I can't."

"Can't? Or are afraid to try?"

He has no answer. The ramp shuts, and he's gone. He'll return, eventually. And she'll forgive him.

But there will always be another woman, and her name is Freedom.

* * *

_**Indifferent- **Han, post-ROTJ_

_**Exhausted- **Han, post-ROTJ_

_**Hopeful- **C-3PO and R2-D2, post-ROTJ_

_**Relaxed- **Leia, ROTJ_

_**Restless- **Leia, post-ROTJ_


	16. Week 16: Mood

**LXXVI. Happy. **

"Han?"

She's standing in the doorway with a mix of joy and fear on her face, clutching a slip of paper. Something isn't ordinary, because she rarely looks so vulnerable. He knuckles the sleep from his eyes. "Yeah?"

Wordlessly, she presses the paper into his hand. He has to read it three times before it makes any sense. When he looks back up at her, she's waiting with her bottom lip between her teeth.

"We're gonna have a baby?"

"No."

He glances back at the paper, confused.

She laughs. "We're having two!"

He's too dumb-struck to feel anything but happy.

* * *

**LXXVII. Gloomy. **

He has to admit, he's never spent much time with pregnant women. So he never expected the moodiness.

"What's wrong, princess?"

She sighs. Her eyes are dark. "Our children won't have grandparents, Han."

_Damn._ He hates walking into these conversations.

She doesn't notice that he's not talking. "What if they have to grow up without parents, like we did?"

Clearly, the hormones are running at full force. He'd like to point out that she _did _have paretns, even if they weren't biological. But he knows he has to watch his step.

"Don't worry," he says. "I won't let that happen."

* * *

**LXXVIII. Stressed. **

Some days, the only way to get her to eat is to mention the babies. The galaxy hasn't stopped running just because she's pregnant, something she's all too aware of. She doesn't talk much, anymore. She doesn't have time.

When she's really stressed, he does what he knows best: tries to make her laugh. Most of the time, he just manages to get on her nerves. But he perseveres, like the hard-headed nerf he is.

And, occasionally, he even succeeds in producing a chuckle. It's not much, but it means the world to her.

This is why she loves him.

* * *

**LXXIX. Content. **

For a moment, it feels like the world has stopped. They're sitting in the garden, and not even the wind dares to stir. Her hands rest on her stomach, right next to his. She doesn't have it so bad, really. She's young, she's healthy. She's married to a man who's absolutely crazy about her. (If he wasn't crazy to begin with.)

Her children won't have to grow up in the shadow of the Empire.

"What's on your mind?" Han asks. He gently brushes his fingers through her air.

"Life."

"Oh yeah? And how's life?"

She smiles. "Good. Life is good."

* * *

**LXXX. Cranky. **

"I want a liji steak."

"You don't like liji."

"Who are _you_ to tell me what _I_ want?" She glares at him with all her maternal fury.

"Sorry, honey. It's just that…"

"I don't want your apologies. Just shut your mouth and get me a steak."

This is too much. "Look, Your Highness. I'm your husband, not your slave. I think you're being just a little too demanding."

A dangerous silence falls. She crosses her arms over her swollen stomach. "Excuse me?"

He's never been one to back down, but he's not suicidal, either. "How would you like that cooked?"

* * *

_**Happy- **Han, post-ROTJ_

_**Gloomy- **Han, post-ROTJ_

_**Stressed- **Leia, post-ROTJ_

_**Content- **Leia, post-ROTJ_

_**Cranky- **Han, post-ROTJ_


	17. Week 17: Philosophy

**LXXXI. Nothing. **

Every once in a while, though she tries her hardest to avoid it, she has to pass by the empty space that was once her home.

Even the dust has dissipated, leaving a circle of blackness in the sky. It gapes like the mouth to some hungry cave, and threatens to swallow her as it did Alderaan.

She can't help but slump forward at the sight of it. Her fingers absently trace an outline on the window, as if she could draw the planet back into existence.

Luke pulls the shades shut. "There's nothing to see."

She swallows hard. "Exactly."

* * *

**LXXXII. Everything. **

Somehow, their arguments always come to this. Snapping, clawing words that do nothing but hurt.

"You have no right to call me spoiled, Han. Not all of us take everything we want, when we want it."

"Everything I- You'd know about everything, princess. You grew up with it."

"Actually, I work as hard as everyone else. I don't use my heritage as a crutch."

"Really? Tell me, then, ever found dinner on the side of the road? Ever picked the wallets off of corpses to buy shoes?"

There's nothing more she can say. "What's wrong with you?"

He sneers. "Everything."

* * *

**LXXXIII. Now. **

She's tired of living for the future. Maybe that's what makes him so attractive to her. His spontaneity. His ability to grab the moment, and do with it what he will.

This is what's going through her mind as he holds her hands in his, leans closer… What would everyone say? A smuggler and a politician- it's just not right. And she has no time for any relationships. That is, if it even becomes a relationship. It's Han, after all, and Force knows what he's after.

But he's not worried about tomorrow.

To hell with consequence. She kisses him back.

* * *

**LXXXIV. Forever. **

If anyone were to ask him, he'd say that falling in love was as good as dying. The only things that came from romance were marriage, heartbreak, and children. None of them necessary, every one of them permanent.

It wasn't like he didn't like women. No, he was a master of the one-night stand. But commitment, that was something he could live without, thank you very much. Give him a ship and an open sky, and he'd be happy as a rancor in a room full of sausages.

He likes bachelorhood for the same reason he likes life: nothing's forever.

* * *

**LXXXV. Fate. **

Isn't it strange, how one simple choice can change the path of a billion futures? He isn't one to entertain regret, but now that he's on the outside once again, he thinks it's safe to wonder.

What would have happened if he'd followed the wishes of the Council, if he hadn't taken in the boy? The Jedi Order would be intact. An innocent woman would still be alive.

But then, the twins would never have been born, and balance never brought to the Force. As much as he eschews the concept of fate, some things are truly meant to happen.

* * *

_**Nothing- **Leia, post-RotJ_

_**Everything- **Leia, post-RotJ_

_**Now- **Leia, ESB_

_**Forever- **Han, pre-ANH_

_**Fate- **Obi-Wan, post-RotJ_


	18. Week 18: Anatomy

**LXXXVI. Eyes. **

In her eyes, she's a child.

Behind the stress and the world-weariness, she holds an innocence that few see. Sometimes, he finds himself lost in them, staring across the table at a briefing. She'll catch his gaze, and suddenly there's still good in this Force-forsaken galaxy.

Though she's a master of hidden emotion, he can always find the truth there. It's beautiful, really, that she's retained that youthful clarity. It also makes it hard to forget that she's too young for the responsibility heaped on her.

Whenever reality gets too dark, her eyes are proof that purity can still survive.

* * *

**LXXXVII. Nose. **

"Really, Solo. It's not important." She pointedly turns away, but he follows anyway.

"Come on, Worshipfulness. At least tell me his name."

With an annoyed sigh, she turns around. "I never said there _was _a 'his'."

"That doesn't mean there isn't. The girls from Maintenance said-"

"The girls from Maintenance say a lot of things," she says darkly. "Remind me to dock their pay."

"So they were right," he says triumphantly. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be so worked up about it."

"I'm not 'worked up'," she growls. "Now take you nose out of my business, before I do it for you."

* * *

**LXXXVIII. Ears. **

She hears so much about herself, she hardly needs a mirror anymore. There's the praise and criticism given to her face, of course, but it's the whispers in the hallways that really tell the truth. People are always more honest when they think their subject can't hear.

Apparently, her hair is much envied. Her wardrobe, however, is not. She's currently dating Solo, Skywalker, Antilles, and that medic from Yavin. (She can only laugh at those rumors.) Her schedule is filled beyond the humanly possible. (If they only knew…)

And her heart is frozen. Some days, deafness would be a blessing.

* * *

**LXXXIX. Throat. **

He looks different from this perspective.

They're crushed together in yet another awkward situation, because fate's sadistic and the Rogue Squadron has a sick sense of humor. Thanks to the box under her feet, she's now elevated to just below his jaw. It's an interesting change from the usual spot in the center of his chest.

It's a nice throat, ignoring the crude comments that flow from it, and the bloated ball of hot gas it supports. It's strong.

_Stubborn. _

Clean.

_Self-centered._

And it smells good…

_Maker, I'm smelling his aftershave. _She joins him in pounding on the closet door.

* * *

**XC. Skin. **

The first thing he really sees is skin.

He's imagined her in less, of course, and he's not afraid to admit it. But not even his twisted imagination could strip her more naked than she is now.

She shifts uncomfortably, and he can see scars, ones he would never expect to view on her pale, tiny body. Some of them look all-too recent. _What have you done for me?_ he thinks, with a shiver of guilt.

Two years ago, he would have enjoyed this. But now that he sees her, he just wishes he could give her some real clothes.

* * *

_**Eyes- **Han, RotJ_

_**Nose- **Leia, ANH-ESB_

_**Ears- **Leia, ANH-ESB (Special thanks to Trans-Siberian Orchestra's 'What Good This Deafness', from the rock opera Beethoven's Last Night, for the inspiration fro this drabble)_

_**Throat- **Leia, ANH-ESB_

_**Skin- **Han, RotJ_


	19. Week 19: Numbers

**XCI. One. **

As the air cleared and the blaster-fire echoes faded, one remained. She didn't bother to look around. The scene was one she'd seen too many times already. Blaster bolts don't distinguish friend from foe. Neither do desperate soldiers with no time to ask questions.

It was supposed to be a bloodless job, but the rules went out the window with a single shot. The rest was unavoidable. Not that anyone was left to question it.

Mathematically speaking, she was blessed. The odds of leaving the Cantina weren't high that night. That didn't make it any easier being the only one.

* * *

**XCII. Three. **

Groups of three are doomed to unhappiness. Someone always has to be the go-between.

"What do I do, Padme?" he asks one night. "If I do what one asks, I'm betraying the other. I don't want to be a traitor."

It takes her a few moments to answer. As she considers, she winds her hair through her fingers. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth, until he can't tell where each strand started from. Finally, she looks up. "Where does your heart lie?"

'_With you', _he thinks, and the answer becomes clearer. Everything is easier with four corners.

* * *

**XCIII. Five. **

Where will she be in five years? Working in the Senate, she supposes. Luke will be a full-blown Jedi Master, and maybe the Order will live again. Han will be wherever his heart desires, as always. Funny how the unpredictable are the easiest to forecast.

But will she be married? Or have kids, even, living with Han in their very own little home? The very thought makes her nervous. The future's so uncertain. She could fall in love with someone else by then. Maybe she won't even be alive.

It seems unlikely, but a lot can happen in five years.

* * *

**XCIV. Seven.**

"Is that all she's worth to you, kid?"

Luke looked down at the flowers in his hands. "A dozen?"

"Yeah. You can't give a bouquet that huge to a girl. It's cheap."

"Not sure I'm following you, Han."

Han sighed. "Too many is flashy. All it tells her is that you're desperate, Or that you're insecure, trying to cover up with an expensive gift."

"Oh." Luke plucked half the flowers from the bunch. "There."

"Half a dozen? 'There's someone else, and I'm too stingy to buy two separate bouquets.'" He put a flower back. "Seven, kid. Seven's the magic number."

* * *

**XCV. Nine.**

The last time they met, she was a girl (too fast becoming a woman), and he was nine years old. She's not sure what she expected. That same sandy-haired child, or some man who bears his name.

He doesn't seem surprised by her appearance. In truth, she hasn't changed all that much. Time has been softer on her than her little desert pilot. He's aged enough for them both.

The tall, dark stranger before her, a gangly youth on the edge of manhood, looks unfamiliar at first. But when he sees her, his face brightens.

His smile is still nine.

* * *

_**One- **Leia, ANH-ESB_

_**Three- **Anakin, RotS_

_**Five- **Leia, RotJ_

_**Seven- **Luke, ANH-ESB_

_**Nine- **Padme, AotC _


	20. Week 20: Final Words

_**A/N: **Well, here we are. The final chapter. I hope you've had as much fun reading these as I did writing them. It's been a journey, tedious and exhausting at times, but I've learned a lot about my writing style and myself. Pretty cool, huh. _

_Until next time,_

_**TSW

* * *

**_

**XCVI. A Light in the Dark.**

All she can feel is pain. It's everywhere, surrounding her in a solid, relentless cloud of despair. There's no use in fighting it anymore. Her world begins to shrink into a single, lightless room with no windows and only one door.

Somewhere, someone is calling her, but she can't hear what they're saying. It doesn't matter. Words lost their meaning long ago.

But then a new sound comes to her. A cry. She'd know it anywhere, though she's never heard it before. Two tiny rays of innocence pierce her prison.

Luke. Leia. Anakin's last gift, a light in the dark.

* * *

**XCVII. Steer by the Stars.**

"Where are we going, Han?"

He smiles. "Maybe instead of worrying about where you're giong, you should pay attention to where you _are_."

She's not in the mood for an argument. "Fine. Where are we?"

"Alone," he says softly, with a scoundrel's grin she hasn't seen in a long time. "No kids. No politics. No stupid schedules." The look in his eyes is the same longing she saw there the first time they kissed. He's a little grayer now, but the effect is the same.

"Just us?"

"Uh-huh." He shuts off the navigation system. Tonight, they'll steer by the stars.

* * *

**XCVIII. Shake the Heavens. **

If there is one thing about him that will never be debated, it's that he loved her. Indeed, the galaxy rarely sees such spectacular devotion. That it ended in pain does nothing to dilute its magnificence.

A great tower that crumbles was once a tower, nonetheless. The same is true for him. Though fate and death drove them apart, and the cruel manipulation of fear caused him to falter, there was always love for her deep inside him, safe in the core of his soul.

From this adoration sprang a galactic destiny. It was a love to shake the heavens.

* * *

**XCIX. Beneath These Hands. **

Beneath these hands lies the power to turn back time.

I first discovered the ability by accident. It was a poor shot on my part. The bird lay crumpled on the ground, patiently waiting to die. When I touched the feathered fragments, something sharp, but not quite pleasant, raced through me. Muscles suddenly meshed back together. In an instant, the bird had flown away.

This is my destiny, my purpose in this world. To save those with no other hope. To pay off my rescue by rescuing others. There are second chances in life, and they lie beneath these hands.

* * *

**C. The Path and the Walker. **

Trust never came easy to her. As a leader, she'd always done everything by herself. That way, she was sure that nothing could go wrong.

It's a good business strategy, but it doesn't work so well in real life.

Sometimes, she wants to knock on Fate's door and tell her exactly how things need to go. Chaos ensues when plans go astray, and it leads to all sorts of inconveniences, like losing and fighting and falling in love.

But over the years she's learned to cope with imperfection, and to find that crucial trust between the path and the walker.

* * *

_**A Light in the Dark- **Padme, RotS_

_**Steer by the Stars- **Han and Leia, post-RotJ_

_**Shake the Heavens- **Anakin, post- RotS_

_**Beneath These Hands- **Akaru, post-RotJ_

_**The Path and the Walker- **Leia, post-RotJ

* * *

_

_**The End, and Many Beginnings. **_

_**May the Force be with you, Always**_


End file.
